Zipperrific
by AlternateShadesofBlue
Summary: When Donna's too forward tailor suggests ways to get Harvey's attention, fantasies and feelings complicate her resolve. Set in 8A


Everything has changed. Mike and Rachel had left. Robert Zane was now a partner. They had new employees Donna didn't know or trust.

She had kissed Harvey and he'd responded. He'd let an important woman in his life go, to hold on to her.

But for all that change some things still remained the same. Like things always did when it came to them.

She steps into one of her most trusted venues that morning, deciding making changes in other areas might help make up for the ones she needed to let go of.

_Michelle's Tailoring_

Michelle was from Brazil and had been working with Donna somewhere in the vicinity of year three of working with Harvey. The woman had an eye for the smallest detail like no other, and Donna could always trust her to not only fit her to within a centimeter while tucking in the right places, but also steer her in the direction of fashion trends, despite sometimes looking harried from spending her days under fabric and deadlines.

Donna greets her and begins trying on the first dress, a burgundy Roland Mouret. She hears from over the dressing cubicle Michelle going on about something in Portuguese.

She steps out and Michelle looks up, stars in her eyes. Donna could swear the woman got more excited by her wearing the dresses than Donna herself did.

Michelle starts pinning. "I saw your man's picture in the paper this morning."

"My man's?"

"We're getting you on that man this year."

"Michelle, we've talked about this."

"If we did, it didn't work." She continues working on the dress and Donna lets it go. Michelle had a way of winning all arguments. "I'm glad you're back to wearing colors. Things must have improved?"

"What do you mean?" Donna asks.

"You know. I couldn't get you out of dark colors for months."

"That wasn't—"

Michelle shoots her a harsh look, and Donna drops her shoulders in defeat. The woman was like a seer. "So. Are they?"

Improved? Donna thinks. "They're…" How did she explain nothing really changing, when so much had changed? "Back to normal," she settles on again.

"You know I mind my own business."

Donna forces herself not to call out the lie with examples.

"But if you wore a few more plunging necklines," Michelle motions over her chest, " and some of those full-body zippers more often, you might not be so normal anymore."

Donna widens her eyes and tilts her head. "That's the most misogynistic thing that's ever come out of your mouth."

Michelle lets out a huff. "Doesn't make it less true."

Donna begins to protest, but stops to rethink. "He doesn't really look at me that way."

"Yeah he does."

"How would you know?" Donna challenges.

"_I know_," Michelle says with another glare for emphasis. "Have I ever been wrong before?"

Donna wants to point out the times she has, but can't come up with one example.

Michelle gets busy with work again, the conversation fading away. Minutes pass, and she's helping Donna out of a pinned dress before she says quietly, "Wear things to make him think of removing them. He's ready."

Donna doesn't ask how she could possibly know, and dismisses the woman as eccentric and overstepping. But she orders the complete wardrobe Michelle suggests and thinks of wearing the zipper down lower on the Oscar de la Renta when she gets it. She tries to justify her choices for other reasons than the fact they match what Michelle had said.

* * *

A set of keys are in Donna's hand. The leather fob tucked into her fingertips. She's at his door, undoing the lock. She has no idea why she's doing this, or why she can't seem to stop herself. She strides through the apartment, not even paying attention to anything she passes.

Is the shower running? That's the excuse she uses as she's heading there. But when she arrives, the shower is empty.

She frowns, a lost feeling inside her gut at the meaning behind this intrusion and why she couldn't stop herself.

She hears something. Pants. Gasps. Coming from behind her.

A spin around reveals him propped up against his bed frame. Intense. Focused ahead.

She's drawn closer, almost afraid of what she's going to find.

He's fully nude, covers pulled back. She can tell he's well at attention with his pumping fist but she can't seem to actually see him in his full glory.

Dark desire entangles her from across the room. It's holding her in place. Frozen. Feet nailed into the ground as she's hypnotized by his locked eyes while he works himself to release.

The keys she'd been holding are gone, she's not sure where. The zipper on her dress begins a slow descent all the way down her front until it's opened for him. Giftwrap slipping away until his greatest desire is his for the taking. Except, not every fantasy is tactile. Her panties come next, slipping down and then her bra is unhooked. She falls back against the wall, hoping for support as her fingers find her folds.

She whimpers on contact. Slick and tender from instant need. They're in time. In sync. Almost as if the pumps of his fist can be felt through her fingertips. Her body bends for ease of reach. They bury inside herself, mimicking his motion, feeling his intentions symbiotically while they slip in and out, stacking her toward the edge with the aid of her thumb.

Her need for him is overwhelming. But a will she can't explain is still holding her in an unspoken game of her sneaking in, the only invitation the key, and him inviting her to join with an unspoken but continued performance.

His hips tense, thrusting upwards. His eyes invite her to follow him over the edge. She's close, so close. She can feel the same beads of sweat from his skin on hers. Feel the pressure of the veins in his forehead.

His pumps slip longer now, taking care over the head as he spurts, again and again over his fingers and stomach, groans spilling from his lips.

She's still there, but his eyes are closing. It's getting dark and then finally, her eyes are open and she's in her tank and shorts on her bed.

Sweat is all over her skin, and there is a distinct wetness and ache of unfulfillment between her legs. But she _isn't_ in Harvey's bedroom, and she _isn't_ on edge because of his use of her naked body.

"Goddammit." She throws the covers off and grabs her phone from the nightstand. She'd woken up before her alarm but there's no way she's recovering fast enough to get back to sleep. She has time to kill.

_She could._ Let herself succumb to uninvited fantasies she'd been trying to ignore, especially since her conversation a few days ago.

No one accused her of not being stubborn in her ideals. She was solid to a fault. She isn't letting his newfound comfort in their normal give her butterflies. A regular old fantasy with a random stranger will get her off just fine after she's let the dream slip away like she had many times before.

She starts with a cold shower.

Instead of helping, it leaves her body chilled in July, her hair duller, and now only an occasional throb between her legs while she's walking up Madison Avenue. She wonders if the saying '_take a cold shower_' is more of a euphemism for the longer shower running out of heat in the time it took to masturbate.

In any case, she's even more frustrated than when she began.

* * *

Okay, so maybe even after forcing her brain repeatedly not to see Harvey, she flashes her assets a bit. If the dress had a slit and she knew he was coming, she may perch so more leg shows. She might hate herself for it, but maybe Michelle was right and it didn't hurt to tempt fate.

Until the day he jokes about pulling her pigtails and he hints he wants to keep going. She steals his _not_-bagel because it annoys him and she's hungry. And maybe she wants to make sure he thinks about that full-length zipper on her pale pink dress for the rest of the day as much as she's going to think of him gripping his fingers and pulling her hair for reasons other than recess.

* * *

That day she goes home and needs to relieve that. The tension that the image of his fingers wrapped tightly in her hair creates. Which she'd been doing a lot more of recently.

She keeps repeating to herself it's harmless. It may be caused by him but she's not letting herself think of him during, except, she does. Not intentionally of course. But thanks to that stupid dream and the way it fulfilled him but only pretend-fulfilled her. Now it left her unable to satisfy this new level of horny, and she sees what his face looks like each time she's building to come.

So as her fingers work her abundant wetness around her clit, as she lays half-naked on her sofa, he's watching her.

_Wishing I could pull your hair?_

She ignores her fantasy but shifts her head against the cushions until she feels a little tug in spite of it.

_I want to suck you into my mouth._

He's imaginary-staring at her parted lips and fingers, licking his lips and looking ravenous. She tries to switch his face in her brain to some random celeb she can't even remember the name of because she's breaking all the rules, but he only grins at her.

_Fuck_. She's so close now. She rationalizes that this isn't against the rules because they don't touch each other in it and this is just pretend. Then he pulls his pants down enough to free his straining cock and she comes as he repeats _Fuck, Donna_ and jerks off in her direction.

* * *

The episodes seem to be dwindling down again. Maybe she's gotten him out of her system. Not enough to stop wearing her new dresses. You don't waste fashion after all. But she thinks she's letting go, bit by bit and her dream is fading and the moment of whatever this was has passed, _thank you very much, Michelle. _

Then, she gets annoyed he's telling Alex to sit tight and not be actively fighting. Okay, maybe the frustration is more about her sitting tight with him too, in spite of her inner judgment.

She can't seem to cut him out emotionally no matter how many times she keeps telling herself this time she has. The voice in the back of her head wants him too much to fully let her free.

It should be black and white, both her protecting her feelings and his goddamn intentions. So she purposefully forgoes zippers and low necklines, and dresses in actual black and white to remind herself every time she sees a mirror about clarity, and being securely in or out.

Maybe she's a little too biting and obvious when she points out people need to know where they stand and he's going to end up alone and bothered in a way that 'doesn't mean'.

He does get annoyed. The sad part is, she's not even sure it's about more than her calling him on his bullshit and her meddling to help someone besides him.

She does not allow herself to come that night.

* * *

Time passes and she's solidly convinced herself to let go again. Settles into it, manages to think of other faces besides his in her time alone. Then she overhears him talking about tomatoes. Her skin is hot and probably red as he's stepping closer, and there's the slightest voice that sounds an awful lot like him telling her _she's_ the tomato.

That presses her to ask if it's true(about the tomatoes) and then he's bringing up strawberries and whipped cream. The memory shoots right between her legs and goddamn him.

She knows he's visiting again tonight when she's able to relieve it. Talking about masturbation with him makes it take far too long to tell him to call his brother like she'd meant to in the first place.

* * *

He leaves town and then shows up in her shower that night. Standing in the opposite corner, watching as the showerhead jets against her pussy until the pressure shocks her over the edge in tight wave after tight wave, and her water washes his results down the drain.

She's furious at his image for being back, and at real-life him for summoning it. But despite the fact she's angry, even a bit with herself for thinking about them again, she knows he's with his brother facing his old worst demons about his mother and that tempers down her frustration.

* * *

The next night, she's on her bed. This time it's softer, slower, and gradually building up. He lays beside her. Matching her tone. Telling her she's everything and being with her makes him feel like he never had before.

_You're beautiful. Coming with me. _

It's a beauty limitation but she doesn't protest because the way he looks at her in her reverie makes her feel even more so. So she does and it's so intense with emotion more than vigor, and ends with the best night of sleep she's had in weeks.

* * *

She wears the dress covered in lockets the next day. Maybe she picks it because it's pretty. Or maybe subconsciously her feelings are going beyond letting herself get off a few times to her fantasy and it screams romantic.

He calls her that night, voice low and only for her, lightly flirting and reminiscent of the latest version she'd dared to play with. She lets in the slightest sliver of hope. He's opening up, talking about giving pieces of himself and for every piece he's let free, she lets herself imagine letting herself free to believe too.

* * *

Harvey's been back two days when suddenly he's asking about the Weimhouser Award ceremony that night. Rick McMartin, one of their biggest clients is being honored and they'd agreed all the name partners would attend.

"You need a ride tonight?" he asks.

Before she can get the first filthy thought out of her head he's continuing.

"I figure we both won't have time to get home and back and Ray's—"

"What are you talking about?" she asks.

"The ceremony?" he says like she's the one that's forgotten something.

"Last I checked Paulsen isn't on the wall."

"We both know in reality, it might as well be."

"Which doesn't get me a formal invite," she counters.

"I forgot to ask," he sheepishly answers. "In either case you're…" He pauses, lips shifting like they're searching for a way to make words.

"I'm… What?

"You are as far as I'm concerned." Named partner is what he left out, along with what he's actually getting at.

"Well, in either case, no."

"No, what?"

"No, I'm not riding with you because I'm not going."

"Why not?"

"Because you can't go to a formal event you didn't plan for. Or know about," she says as she slaps a folder against his chest.

"What about that guy?" He motions over the front of her and it takes a minute for her to figure out what he means.

"How do you know about that?"

"Rachel told me."

"Rachel told you?" she presses.

"Well, no. I overheard her talking to Mike about it," he admits reluctantly.

She wonders what that was about and why Harvey was paying attention about her fashion delivery tricks but gets to the point. "That guy is in Paris now, and I doubt Michelle, my tailor can have something ready in time."

"So, check if she can."

"You weren't taking anyone?" She's in dangerous territory again but him wanting to go together after everything is stirring her hope in a way her sensible side is trying to suss out.

"No. I… I didn't think about asking anyone else."

But he thought about them going together. As an afterthought? Because he's just asking her now.

* * *

Michelle was magical enough to have a dress for her if she picked it up on the way. Donna's thankful she keeps spare make-up and haircare products in her purse because it turns out, notice is required for those appointments too. Which she makes a point to rub in to Harvey even though she knew it would be the case.

She manages a decent updo and some touched up makeup before they leave. She meets Harvey downstairs and as soon as she gets a glimpse of him, she has to stop to catch her breath.

She's seen him in tux's dozens of times over the years. But not often as her _not_-date and not often standing in the streetlights and waiting with an open door for her. It's moments like this she remembers why it's so hard not to linger on him.

He smiles as she walks up to him, and she pauses while her eyes linger in his. With anyone else, they could have their driver get the door. But Ray never did unless Harvey wasn't around. It's an antiquated gesture and something in her distant mind protests.

The care behind it erases the thought. She doesn't need it but he cares for her in timed moments that managed to trap her breath and made escaping the possible meaning a half-hearted challenge. Being cared for by him makes her feel more special than she can manage to refuse.

Louis had canceled earlier in the day, something about sperm off days and maximizing swimmers. Then on the way, Robert calls to say he's at the ER with Laura. They suspect kidney stones and Donna sends her get well wishes and thinks maybe Harvey pressing for her to come was a lucky call.

* * *

When they get to Michelle's, Harvey insists on following her inside. So, of course, Michelle laser eyes on him and darts her eyes back to Donna with a clear look telling her to jump him or she would. Donna fights away a grin, widening her eyes to tell Michelle to tame it down while Harvey flashes his own grin that's full of charm and deadly.

Like Michelle needed extra fuel to that fire.

Michelle's assistant goes to grab the dress.

"Nice place you have here. I've got my own tailor but just in case, you service men too, right?" he asks, looking around.

"I service them alright," Michelle answers.

Donna chokes, smacking her hand against Michelle's arm, not that anything would stop her.

She's almost scared to leave Harvey alone with her while she changes into the dress but doesn't have much choice. The dress is all black, a strapless floor-length, dipping just a bit mid-back. It flared slightly at the bottom but was mostly form-fitting. She's thankful there's already a new black bustier in her size ready for her with the dress, and she's soon changed and stepping back into the storefront.

She stops in the center of the room, feeling consumed by the weight of Harvey's stare.

Michelle begins fiddling, cutting tags and adjusting the bodice. Donna barely registers her movements, more consumed by the look on his face. She feels exposed and it's not from the dress. And not in a way that she wants it to stop. She just wants the rest of the world to cease to exist long enough so she can dare whatever she's seeing behind that look he's giving her closer.

Michelle's assistant clears her throat. Michelle is standing away from her now, seemingly finished and wearing her predictable all-knowing grin.

Harvey is shifting his feet and hiding his mouth behind his hand. Michelle says something under her breath in Portuguese as they're walking out and if Donna had to take a guess, it was definitely something to do with getting naked with Harvey tonight.

Once they're in the car they settle into mostly silence, but Harvey's focus on her is plenty distracting.

"So, just the two of us tonight," she says.

"Never had a more beautiful companion."

Her lips part and she's stuck on his compliment longer than she's comfortable showing.

* * *

Soon Ray is dropping them off. As soon as Donna steps out of the car she feels something is wrong.

Her dress. The bodice feels loose. She quickly grows uneasy.

"Um, Harvey."

He stops in front of her, his brow raised.

"I think something's wrong with my dress. Maybe the zipper? Could you?"

There's a slight curve at the corner of his lips. She can't quite make out if it's amusement or nervousness but he nods and then he's behind her and way too still.

Too many seconds pass. "Harvey. What?" she demands.

"It's just… The little hook above the zipper is gone."

"What do you mean, gone?"

"Gone like not there. I just see a bunch of threads. Like they were cut."

"_Cut!_" Something about this screams a way too eager, meddling Brazilian woman with a crazy matchmaking imagination. One she'll have words with when her shop opened the next day and they weren't going to be details on all the ways she'd fucked Harvey.

"Just pull it up. It should stay." Though she's not really convinced.

"Well…" Harvey's fingertips lightly brush mid-back and it tightens around her again.

She tugs at her bodice, breathing a sigh of relief as it seems fine now. She tells herself it should be fine and they start walking to the entrance again.

Once they're inside the lobby, she feels the distinct feeling of things slipping again. There are people everywhere and suddenly this feels like a disaster. "_Shit."_

He looks to her, eyebrows raised then reads her face before she can even say it. He adjusts it again.

"Uh, Donna? It's pretty loose," he says apologetically.

She looks toward the now-filled event hall, frowning.

Then suddenly Rick McMartin is approaching and she shifts her face to smiles. They exchange hellos and give congratulations to him and his wife.

The older man's face is beaming with a warm smile. "I really appreciate you both coming tonight. Especially with Robert and Louis having to miss it."

"We're so sorry about that," Donna says. "They were sad to miss it. Your business is so important to our firm and even more so, you're important. This is a special night."

Mrs. McMartin reaches for her hand. "I told Harvey, if he didn't include the best part of the firm tonight, I'd cancel his invite. Great to see you, Donna."

Donna thanks her and they bid each other a good night. The fact that it was Mrs. McMartin that invited her and not Harvey plays around in her mind, even if it's a ridiculous detail to get caught upon. The fact makes her hopes fall which is exactly when she's reminded of her dress, yet again doing the same thing.

Falling and failing to be unproblematic. She does her best to pull at the sides and thinks this dress is feeling anything but tailored. She feels like a twelve-year-old not used to formal wear.

"Why don't I just call Ray to pull up the car and get you home," he offers, fixing her again.

His gaze keeps falling at the neckline of her dress and she should probably read it as him watching for malfunctions but instead it's making her blush. She doesn't _want_ tonight to end abruptly. His visual appreciation of her is a side he rarely gives to her and she's not ready to give it up yet.

"You just heard him and his wife, Harvey." She pauses, reasoning annoying wardrobe is often part of events like this. Even still, she's _not_ about to make an embarrassing impression over it. _Thank you very much, sassy Michelle._

She sighs, resolved. "Okay, here's how this is going to go. You're going to swear to me you'll never spring something on me like this last minute again."

He nods, cautiously. "And serve Michelle with a lawsuit?"

She shakes her head. "Trust me, that woman could take you. Brazilians are all fire."

He gives her an alarmed look.

"I'll handle her later. You, on the other hand, have a job tonight. Your focus will be on making sure this zipper stays up."

He nods again, eyes a little wide as he traces over her for too long and swallows.

She can't help but stare at his neck. And dear lord if she doesn't want to kiss the spot just above his throat.

They head to check-in to the ballroom and the attendant hands them their programs. "Harvey Specter and his guest, Donna Paulsen," the man says, smiling at them both.

Harvey's hand is right at her back and _guest_ is sounding too much like the word _date_.

She feels the need to correct him. "We're not—"

"Late are we?" Harvey finishes.

"No sir, enjoy your evening," the man says.

Once they're far out of earshot she asks the obvious. "What was that about?"

"If I'm going to have my eyes and hands all over you all night—"

"Not _all_ over."

He presses his lips together. "In places that look like we've got something more going on, Donna."

She sighs. He's right. They'll look like more.

"We might as well play along rather than keep explaining we're not. You're my date," he asserts.

"Oh no. If I have to put up with this, you're _my _arm candy for the night."

He nods, grinning widely. "So you think I'm candy."

Her mouth falls open, and she shakes her head. She's not touching _that_ metaphor, even if he's still touching her and the words _suck_ and _him_ play in her head.

* * *

The fake dating thing brings an issue neither had considered. It gave them both permission to break silent ground rules, and fuck if they knew the boundaries once they green-lighted touching.

His hand spends most of the night at various spots on her spine, casually adjusting its position and her zipper as he smiles and laughs while they're mingling. He pulls her closer, leans in and plays the part well, meeting her eyes often and a hint of sparkly mischief behind them. She's spending the night heady and way too affected while he seems totally at ease with his faux role.

His skimming fingertips repeatedly on her skin create shivers that only get worse the moment he steps behind her and loops an arm around her waist, thumb brushing her ribcage. His breath hits the back of her neck as he slyly uses his other hand to put her dress back into the safety zone.

She turns, all semblance of being unaffected missing, and the dark eyes she meets staring back do nothing to tame her racing heart.

Someone greeting Harvey breaks the connection and she decides she needs air and something to drink. Not outdoor air but just air not shared with his breaths because judging by the tightness in her throat, it's starting to strangle her.

She takes the opportunity of the distraction and heads to the bar. Her dress will make it that far and it will give her space and let her head clear instead of being hyperfocused on every place they touch. She takes a seat and waits for her drink, taking in deep breaths as she tries to recenter reality.

There are facts to consider.

They work together. Not with her under him anymore but it still made complications.

They communicate everything with a look, but can't finish a sentence because of it. So the most important things are never said.

He deflects every time feelings are involved. She pauses on that fact, a whisper pointing out she does too.

History adds them up into reasons why they should not in a way that hits her with the _why she still does._ In spite of everything, he's her everything. Even though he's not actually hers to claim.

That's why she's sitting at the bar so affected by flirting, a fake date, and touches that at the end of the night, wouldn't add up to enough.

The attractive man beside her is throwing suggestive looks and she knows it's coming long before it does. Welcomes it even just to distract her thoughts.

"Having a good time?" he asks.

She scoffs. "Holding out for the awards."

He grins into his whiskey. "That bad, huh?"

It's not, but she pretends the complicatedness means it is. "You have no idea."

"Know that feeling. And what about the dancing after?"

He's hinting at the dancing to ask her later which she deflects from, bringing up who he's here to see instead.

Then Matthew, age 29, she learns that next, begins his personal get-to-know Donna. He's mildly charming, openly leaning, and even though he's not leaving enough mystery to keep her interest, she realizes how refreshing open intention is. The thought makes her drink heavier in her stomach.

She's a few minutes into their conversation when a hand is widely splayed on her back. She turns her head to catch Harvey with a plastered smile and a very set jaw, shoulders set and dominance on full display.

"Hey Donna," he greets, intimacy and possession in the huskiness of his tone.

"Harvey," she answers cautiously and then he's even closer.

He leans toward her, hand on the bar between her and Matthew and says, "I was beginning to miss you." Every intention was in the man behind him hearing it even if the tone was that it was intimately for her.

His shirt is brushing against her arm and his face is close enough she feels his breath tickle against her cheek. Her chest is rising too high and she's so angry at herself for responding to his jealousy. She feels a throb between her legs that somehow matches the one in her temple as their eyes are locked.

Matthew is gone almost faster than his muttered goodbye.

Harvey loosens up the minute the man is gone and something about that climbs a rage inside her.

"What the hell was that?" she demands.

"You told me to protect your zipper," he plays.

She's not having it. "My _zipper_ was not what you were protecting." She stares harshly at him.

"That was…" He pauses, clearing his throat. "I was protecting you. That guy was all over you."

Between the liquor newly in her stomach, the fresh goosebumps still lingering on her skin, and the mortification of the way he'd just acted like a jealous boyfriend when she'd been flirting mixes together to raise her frustration.

"At least he was being honest." Suddenly she's up from her seat and getting fast to anywhere that isn't close to him.

Sure tonight he's her date. And his looks and touches linger longer than anyone else's ever had. But he _didn't _feel anything with her kiss, it's _just _because he's human, and he _didn't_ want to come in that night. And tonight would add up to one of dozens that ended exactly the same.

Instead of images of him tempting her to come all she's seeing now is everything that led up to that, and how he almost sacrificed their everything because of it. At some point, words aren't enough and neither are his dubious actions. If he wanted to be, he would be and she hates that she's learning this well-overdone lesson again.

She's back in the lobby, they're announcing the awards approaching, and they're supposed to go and sit.

She just wants to go home. Her dress needs help again and the worst solution to it is him. She's about to ask the coat check girl when he appears, breathing heavy and eyes wide as he scans for her.

Their connection hits and they stay that way, across the room and fully locked on each other. Turmoil runs between them so encompassing the world around them becomes insignificant.

She fidgets, cursing this damn dress and him with it. Which of course makes him stride the distance to her in lightning steps, ready to fix an inconvenient annoyance and ignore the rest. She moves to protest but he steadies her waist.

"Let me fix this."

Then he's adjusting her again and she has no idea if he meant just the zipper or the insurmountable chaos between them.

When he's back in front of her, he cocks his head back toward the ballroom. "Come sit with me?" His tone is soft and tentative.

There's no easy exit and at least the back of the chair would hold her zipper and also her dignity because she won't be letting this night break her.

They sit side by side, appropriate laughter and claps, while her insides are anything but what she's projecting.

As the ceremony winds down and the music and dancing wind up they sit in silence.

Suddenly the night they'd compromised to avoid awkwardness is fully beyond that. They're ramrod straight and a foot apart, one of the only few remaining seated.

"Do you want to leave?" he asks.

"I wanted to leave the minute my dress felt loose," she bites.

"We could leave now, but the McMartins might think we didn't enjoy it."

"That's the reason you're going with?" she challenges, incredulous.

"Donna."

She sighs. Like her name on his lips in that petulant tone should be enough.

He looks away and she hears his own sigh catch in his throat. It takes him a minute but then he tries again. "You were right, okay? I wasn't being fully honest about it being about the dress. I just saw him with you, leering, and it set it off. Protectiveness, jealousy."

"Male pride," she challenges. "And what about your lean in? Was that for him too?"

His lips part. "Did you… Like it?" The question is tentative, vulnerability behind it.

She scoffs. "You can't keep asking me to be the one to admit things when you give me nothing."

His shoulders fall. And a part of her even feels bad for him. He's clueless but she's not much better.

He's quiet for awhile and she's convinced it's time to give up.

"You're right," he finally says. "I should give you more." His palm flashes up just above her thigh, reaching for her hand.

She stares at it, questions swirling in her head about what it means.

"If we leave without dancing, people will either think we left for bed or we're fighting, and I know you want neither going through the secretary gossip network." His brows lift. "So, dance with me?" He bends his head in that boyish way of his.

She shakes her head. "We said this was a date. It's already spreading like a viral hashtag." In spite of his bad attempt at humor, she takes his hand.

He leads them to the dancefloor and leads her even more once they're there. His hand stays firm on her back and she's not sure if it's more to hold up her zipper or more to hold her close.

It's rare they do this. Dancing. But just like at Mike and Rachel's wedding, they get lost in it. Their bodies are more flush this time. There are still a couple of spins and still a few bouts of laughter that end with their faces too close. But instead of them being caught up in the energy of the room he's fully caught up in her. She can't help but getting tangled in the reason for it.

He wants to know how to maneuver this, if her read of him is right. Her frustration says he should be the one to figure it out but the truth is, she doesn't know what it's going to take for them to get this right either. She just knows her heart keeps inviting him, even if her brain says she shouldn't.

* * *

The night dies down and they're finally leaving. Before they get into the Lexus he stops her.

"Would you come over for a drink?"

The end of the night, more alcohol, and with a dress that's screaming to get naked, all while being close to his bed sounds completely foolhardy, but she's tired of them playing it safe. Her head says _no_, her heart says _yes_, and her body screams _fuck, yes_. Head overruled.

So she nods and they get into the car.

* * *

They end up on his balcony with six fingers of scotch between them, but her nerves have barely let her take a sip.

They rest against the railing, looking out well above the city below. It's breezy but uncharacteristically warm enough.

He stares into his half-full glass. "I've fucked up a lot since you were promoted from my desk."

"Is it any wonder," she answers in tease. Perhaps the seriousness in his tone makes her suddenly nervous.

He turns to her, her hair whipping around her face. He reaches up to smooth some of it behind her ear. "I'm terrified of getting this wrong."

She feels her lip tremble. "What wrong?" Because she's terrified it's something less than what she needs.

His hand then finds her waist, pulling her closer.

She's conscious of everything about herself all of a sudden. The way he can feel her breaths coming in deep against him, whether he can hear her heart racing, if he can feel the slight tremble in her body.

And see her dress revealing too much again. She tries to pull it up.

"Leave it." His forehead leans against hers and he holds her close.

She can definitely feel him drag in breaths as his gaze is focused down.

He finally pulls back, staring at her with full honesty. "I've never doubted you. About anything. But I've never believed I could…" He pauses, seeming frustrated. "I've always been afraid of doing something to lose you. So I played it safe. But by doing that I am losing you and I can't. I _can't_, Donna." His voice wavers and he swallows.

She feels her stomach drop, her heart sinking with it. "You won't lose me. Even if I…" _Had tried to move on. A million times over she'd needed to._ But hurting him and ever calling it completely done is something she can't manage. She can never lose him either without losing a huge piece of herself.

"What haven't you believed you could?" she asks.

"Live up to what you deserve." There's shame behind the words. He shifts his feet until they're further apart again, staring at the ground with his eyes welled up.

She reaches for him, placing her hand on his cheek until he looks up at her. She feels it from deep inside herself, conviction coming from her love for him, fighting away any doubts. "You do. You always have, Harvey. You just have to let yourself have faith in us."

Before she can say another word he's stepping back into her space, cradling her face and kissing her. All her walls she'd worked tirelessly to keep crumble away with the sure press of his lips and everything inside her soars. She lets herself fall into him, feel every touch of his tongue against her, feel his arms desperate to get her close and his legs walking her back until her back is against the railing.

She tenses at the feeling, her adrenaline climbing with the urgency of his kisses and her heart wildly reminding her how far up they are.

He smiles into her mouth. "Like I'd ever let you fall."

"Oh I'm falling all right. My knees going first."

His palms cup her ass and he pulls her into him, solidly keeping her tightly against him. She feels his response to her and want tightens its hold.

He reads her face. She begins to pull off his coat, then begins undoing his tie in answer. She wants this. God how she's wanted this. He buries his face into her neck, mouth searching for expanse of skin and not wanting to let go of her neck long enough for her to get his tie off and his collar free.

She immediately presses her lips to his neck, circling her tongue along the edge of his Adam's apple while she feels it bob against her mouth. She sucks along the hollow of his jaw, tempting groans and breathes from his throat that stir low in her belly like they're her own erotic soundtrack.

Their bodies being flush had inched her dress down. He pulls what's left of the zipper and she lets it drop. She steps out of the fallen fabric and kicks it away, then looks up to see him dragging his eyes over her black bustier, down over her matching panties when suddenly he hooks his fingers in the waist of them and yanks her closer. She feels him again, the surprise causing a huge jolt right to her clit. She's desperate for friction to release the crazy need between her legs.

She reaches for his buckle and then undoes his pants, hoping he'll take the hint and get there faster.

He joins their lips again and then pulls back. He unhooks the top hook of her bra, exposing more of her chest. Then he does another. As she starts to think his plan is to get her naked on the balcony he stops, his hand continuing down until he's pressing them between her legs and over her panties, which makes her more aware of how wet she'd become because she feels the fabric press it against her lips.

"Oh fuck," he says, obviously feeling it too. And then he's scooting the fabric aside, slipping his fingers under the leg opening.

She feels the first brush of his thumb on her clit and a small cry comes out of her lips. He plays there, teasingly moving the hood while he never takes eyes off her face.

She's about to reach for his cock, ready to mutually reciprocate but he doesn't let her. Hisl his fingers make room, slipping inside her and taking away all focus. Each intrusion makes her moan. She needs more. He urges her legs further apart and lifts one to the chaise lounger beside them. She has to reach around his neck to hold herself steady, his fingers thrusting in and out while they stood in front of the skyline.

She wants to bury her face in his neck but the way his eyes hood and twitch each time he fucks his fingers inside her make her sure she could be driven over the edge just but the intensity of seeing him watch her this way.

He's curling his fingers, thumb flicking her again and again. She's so close but fuck if she needs him inside her. All of him.

"_Please_," she pants out.

He stills, slowing his fingers then slowly pulling them out. Her body immediately protests the emptiness. He glances around them briefly, then hooks his thumbs in the hem of her panties and slips them down.

"Harvey, we're… Out here?" she protests.

"It's dark. Only I can see you tonight." Then he's bending down, grabbing behind her knees, hoisting her up and parting her legs around his waist. Instead of going inside he carries her to an outdoor table and sets her down there. It's cold on her behind and she giggles, and then he's pulling his boxers down.

Nothing is funny once she sees the sight of him. Even her dreams didn't make the feeling of seeing him in full want make her feel this desperate to feel him.

The only thing remaining is her partially fastened bustier, with moonlight barely illuminating their bare skin along with thousands of lights in the distance.

He steps between her legs, kissing her again and then drags his lips to her chin and devours her neck. He moves down, kissing the tops of her breasts while he pressed her closer at her lower back.

She adjusts herself, reaching for his erection and wrapping her fingers around. She pumps him several times then rubs the head between her lips, feeling him groan against her skin.

He undoes another hook from her bra, then scoops her breasts over the top. It's still around her waist with her spilling over the top which he takes a long breath while he drags his gaze up to her face.

"You're so fucking perfect, Donna." And it really feels like a dream.

She takes him in, him standing between her legs, resting his hands on the table beside her to be on her level. His mouth teases her, inches apart while the back of his hand travels the side of her face, down over the edge of her shoulder, then traces over the curve of her breast, barely teasing a nipple and then moves again over the outside of her hip. He helps her scoot closer to the edge, wrapping her legs over each arm to keep them from hanging down. Then he presses forward, slipping inside.

He fills her completely and it takes her a minute to begin to adjust until he does it again. Each time they get more in rhythm, each time she gets further from the initial stretch and feels them meld together. Bodies, cadence, and the building rush.

She's close faster than she's ever been before. It turns out the table wasn't the most practical option and they have to repeatedly adjust. But she loops her arms around his neck and he pulls her hips toward him and it's messy and she never wants it to end. They smile and pant and work together toward pleasure, which they do far too close to perfect timing together than can seem real.

She supposes over a decade of reading each other's cues could pay off in more places than one. At some point, he goes inside for a couple of blankets and she unhooks the rest of her lingerie and tosses it to a chair. They lay side by side, tangled around each other on the table, under the stars.

All their past fears hadn't been disentangled. It hits her that maybe all along as complicated as all their reasons to not be together, all that was really standing in their way was telling each other they both wanted to be.

* * *

Donna doesn't yell at Michelle. But she doesn't give her details. Michelle makes her promise if she delivers non-malfunctioning fashion from now on, Donna would let a few things about the results of that night slip.

And Harvey doesn't switch his tailor. But it's the first place he heads months later when he slips a ring on Donna's finger and she says yes.

* * *

_A/N's: This fic is (belatedly) dedicated to Elle for her birthday fic! I can't tell you how much I rely on her for knowing my writing isn't awful so if this didn't work out, it's the thought, right? Over a year ago, I started this fic. Elle's last reply asked if I was feeding her updates in homeopathic doses. So, here's a huge dose after making you suffer so long. I love you, thank you for being my constant support and friend. _

_Hope everyone else enjoys! I know the title is lame but it's fully to make her laugh and know instantly what it is. Much love._


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